The Makings of an Heir
by J.S.F.D
Summary: Harry's in the midst of uncertain times. After a chance encounter, a chain of events completely sabotage his already difficult start at Hogwarts. He wants to do right by his parents, but the world is rigged to throw him into the Dark Lord's palm. If Harry could just work out why?
1. Chapter 1

First of September 1980.

"You should have seen it." Bella's hair was mangled, her eyes wide and lively. She waved her hands about, walking circuits around the nursey. "With a single incantation, he destroyed it!"

Narcissa squeezed her eyes shut. Her sister's enthusiasm on top of Draco's walling was snowballing into a headache. "So, the chosen is dead?" Bella had probably explained it over three times, but her mind wasn't taking a bit of it.

"No, Cissy!" Bella stopped her pacing and walked straight to her sister. "He destroyed the prophecy itself."

Narcissa persisted to bounce Draco. She had a feeling something was wrong, he usually calmed after his bottle. "You can't destroy a prophecy."

Bella's mood dropped. "Well, he did."

"How?" Still bouncing and hushing Draco, Narcissa summoned a thermometer from the changing table.

Bella shielded Draco with her hands. "Cissy. Careful with magic around the baby!"

The ache in Narcissa's head worsened. "I know, I know, it's risky." Draco was taken out of her hold. She didn't fight it and stumbled back into the nearby rocking chair.

"You need a nanny." Bella swayed. Draco's head was resting against her shoulder.

Narcissa wouldn't listen to Bella's advice until she had a baby of her own. She rubbed her forehead longing for bed.

Bella had changed tactic and was now rubbing circles across Draco's back. Narcissa held out the thermometer. "So how did he do it?"

"I don't really know. It was elaborate; an entire ritual was involved. Then he spoke in a language I've never heard." Bella was trying to take Draco's temperature. It proved troublesome, his little hand kept trying to grip the thermometer.

Despite the noise coming from Draco, sleep was beginning to take Narcissa. She adjusted herself further into a slouch. "I don't believe it," she mumbled.

Ministry of Magic, the twenty-fourth of July 1991.

Harry saved the easiest paper for last. Since his father was an Auror, Harry was expected to know his defensive spells. He managed through the first four pages of his question booklet well. His answer spaces were packed with writing. Harry kept telling himself to write neatly but time was constrained. The final set of questions brought his mind to a holt.

Select the three basic formations all death eaters use:

Harry stared at the words for a bit. His father refused to teach him anything about the death eaters. He should have known something like this would turn up. Hogwarts had two different classes for defensive magic. The first was your normal class where everyone learnt how to deal with bogarts and other trivial dangers. The second was an elite class where future death eaters began training for their recruitment. Rumour was, within that second class, the best students attended fortnightly lectures from the Dark Lord. Harry's gut twisted, at least the question was multichoice. He glanced up at the clock, there were five minutes left. He focused back on the answers applying a logical process of elimination. Thankfully, he knew enough technical lingo to decipher each formation.

"One minute to go."

Ultimately, Harry made a guess. He was reasonably confident with one choice, the others were gambles.

"Quills down."

Harry sat back in his chair. The auditorium was silent. If many spoke at that moment, they would automatically fail the entrance exam. The stakes were high for Harry. Purebloods were accepted before half-bloods, he had to do extremely well in his exam to secure a Hogwarts letter. Harry kept his eyes firmly on the head of the boy in front of him. It felt like an eternity until an examiner tapped his shoulder and escorted him out. All the children in the elevator were dead quiet, looking straight ahead as if they were still in the exam. They reached the atrium. Everyone poured out to search for their waiting parents. Past the fountain, Harry saw the roundish figure of Uncle Peter, who jumped when Harry called out to him.

Peter patted over his robes. "So how did it go?"

"I can't really say. I didn't choke under the pressure." He felt he had gotten some details wrong on his history essay. It was hard to say when Dumbledore was defeated, his parents were adamant he survived.

Peter was scanning the floor. "I think I've misplaced my pocket watch."

Harry chuckled and flicked the chain dangling out of his uncle's vest pocket.

Peter grabbed his forehead. With a sigh, he looked at Harry. "I'm sure you did well. Now, come on, we should get out of here."

As more children left their exam the more crowded the atrium was getting. They shuffled their way over to a fireplace and flooed to the leaky cauldron. They order their drinks then went to a small table in the corner. Peter's gaze was lost elsewhere, he kept fidgeting with his fingers.

"Troubles at work?" Harry asked.

Peter nodded a bit. Harry took a mouthful of drink. His uncle rubbed his eyes. Harry noticed a sheen of sweat forming over his face. After a deep breath, Peter said. "Actually no… It's James."

A stone dropped in Harry's heart. "What happened?" A thousand thoughts were running wild in his mind.

"You know how reckless your father can be. He just couldn't keep his head down."

Harry stared at Peter waiting for more. He knew his dad wouldn't sit quietly in Azkaban, his fighting spirit was what made him a good Auror.

Peter twitched his lips in a - _I'm sorry I have to tell you this -_ kind of way. "You'll be eleven next week, that's the age young boys start to go out into the wizarding world. Sadly, I don't believe James even considered your future when he behaved the way he did."

Harry could feel it, something was coming for him. His hands gripped the table.

Peter gulped. "You know how this world works. Keep your head down and follow the rules. James's reputation ruined yours and the odds weren't in your favour to begin with."

"What are you saying?" Harry was staring into Peter's eyes, drilling him for an answer. He knew his situation.

"I've applied for full custody. The Pettigrew name will do you good, especially at Hogwarts." Peter grabbed his tankard and drank.

Harry stared at his fingers. Peter wasn't wrong, walking around as Harry Potter would give the purebloods ample reason to bully him. His eye started to water. Harry was always told to play inside and not mention his mother to anyone. It wasn't until his dad was arrested that Peter came along and explained why. The Pettigrew name would give him a clean slate in wizarding society. However, Potter was his real name. How much of himself would he have to sacrifice in order to live a normal life?

Sometimes Harry wished that his parents hadn't got so involved with the rebellion. Then they could have had a quiet life in Godric's Hollow. His father wasn't like that, he always stuck by his beliefs. "What happened to dad?"

Peter choked on his drink. He beat his cheat and eventually the coughing subsided. "You've just come out of an exam. I wouldn't want to burden you."

Harry wordlessly pleaded to him. Not knowing in itself was a burden.

"Alright, but its grim." Peter patted his forehead with a handkerchief. "There was an incident…" He paused, mouth agape. Slowly, he let his mouth close allowing silence to explain the rest.

A jolt shocked Harry's body. "No. What? Explain."

Peter down another quick sip. "They haven't announced why, but word around the office is the Lord went to examine Azkaban. They say the Dementors made him more reckless because He and Sirius tried to gang up on him…"

The rest of his uncle's words had become background noise. Harry was lost in another world. The spectre to an imaginary duel. His dad, backed by Sirius, going against the Dark Lord – wandless.

"Harry?"

He was shaken out of his vision. "Ah, yeah?"

"Its time we went." They returned home by the floo network. Peter ran upstairs to change his shirt before returning to his job at the ministry. Harry went to his room. After spending so much time studying for the entrance exam, he didn't know what to do with his time.

July thirty-first

Harry followed Peter past the ninth-floor offices. They stopped at a narrow office labelled on-call ministry attorney. Inside, Peter pulled out a chair for Harry to sit on. A lady soon came by with a tray of tea. Her cheeks flushed as she poured their drinks. Harry noticed that his uncle was looking a bit red in the face too.

"How are they today, Angie?"

The woman smiled brightly. "Well, they all have a soap story, don't they?"

"They sure do."

She and Peter broke into laughter. Then her eyes turned to Harry.

Peter patted his shoulder and proudly said, "that's Henry, I took him in for a friend."

The lady grinned brightly. "You have such a big heart, Mr Pettigrew."

Peter went even redder in the face. "You exaggerate."

"Never." She blew him a kiss then continued her tea deliveries.

Peter faced Harry with a dreamy look in his eye. "that's Angela."

"She seems nice." Harry was lazily swinging his legs off the stool.

Peter suddenly raised his finger then when rummaging through his desk drawer. A blue box tied with ribbon was held out to Harry. "Do you want to open now or after?"

Harry looked at it for a while. "I think it's better saved for after, that way I'll have something to look forward to."

The box was returned to the drawer. Peter shook his head. "They pick a hell of a day for you to come."

They both looked at the other for a silent moment. Harry smiled to lift the mood. "So, how does your job go?"

"Ah, see this." Peter pointed to a brass chain dangling beside his desk. "When I tug that, it tells Angela I'm ready for a client." He counted the files in his inbox. "Since I'm an on-call attorney, most of my cases need to be sorted on the spot. The bigger cases, I pass on." Peter glanced back at Harry. "Ready?"

He nodded and Peter gave the chain a tug. A few minutes later a red-haired woman shuffled into office, taking the seat across Peter. She clutched a patchwork purse, clearly on the verge of tears.

"Case number."

From her purse, she handed Peter a scrap of parchment. He glanced at it before shuffling through his inbox. He withdrew a file that was ticker than Harry had expected. For a brief while, Peter scanned through its contents before addressing the woman. "To clarify, Mrs Weasley, your household was discovered to contain a large collection of muggles artefacts?"

The woman snuffled. "Yes."

Peter scribbled in his notebook. "Those objects were apprehended, and you were fined a thousand galleons."

She kneeled over her purse. "Yes."

After re-checking the file and adding another note, Peter said, "And when you were unable to pay the fine, your husband was sent to Azkaban instead."

The woman flooded with tears. "Oh, Arthur!"

With a bored expression, Peter slid over the tissue box. After some minutes the woman was able to speak again. "It's my children, Mr Pettigrew. Without Arthur, I can't…" She grabbed a handful of tissues to bury her face into.

Peter tapped the desk impatiently. Harry wondered if should wait outside.

"I have seven children, four in home school." She blew her nose loudly. "With Arthur out of work, we have no income."

After a sigh, Peter said, "The Dark Lord values the pure magical youth of Brittan." He slid her a piece of parchment. "Write the details of the children attending Hogwarts and those under eleven years of age. The ministry will arrange for their care."

The woman sniffled. "Arrange for their care, what do you mean?"

Peter straightened the loose paper and jotted down another note. "Northhome for the under elevens and Batchman for the Hogwarts students. I'm afraid you do not meet the requirements for family assistance."

The woman took a silent gasp. "Halfway homes? They're my children, you can't just take them. And what of Fred and George? They didn't pass their Hogwarts entrance exam."

"Do you have any relatives who could take them?"

The woman clutched her chest and wailed loudly. She sat sobbing her soul out. Peter re-checked his pocket watch then shrugged at Harry.

After some minutes, she dabbed out her tears and took the quill. Halfway through writing the first name, she asked, "But I can visit them?"

Peter took another glimpse at the file. "Unfortunately, your loyalty score isn't high enough for me to allow that."

The woman screamed. Harry stiffened on the spot. She threw the quill like a dart. It narrowly missed Peter and embedded into the wall behind him. Peter slid his hand for the parchment, but she quickly shoved into her purse. Still screaming she left the office, slamming the door on her way out. Peter slouched into his chair and sighed. Harry blinked a few times.

"This job can take a lot out of you." Peter took a sip of tea.

Harry was too shocked to say anything.

After a quiet minute, Angela reappeared with a letter in hand. Peter raised his cup to her. "Good tea, Angie. What do you need?"

She thanked him and placed the letter on the desk. "They want you to sort out Cornelius, also the call for Henry has arrived."

Peter examined the letter, then looked to Harry. "I guess you're off then."

Harry took in a breath. He didn't know what to expect. He ceased his cup and downed the tea.

"You'll be fine. Angie will point you in the right direction." Peter gave Angela a wink.

She escorted Harry down a number of long corridors until they reached a clinical space. Most of the nearby offices were for researchers. There wasn't a waiting room, Harry had to sit on a bench beside Undertaker Kirp's office. Angela waved him goodbye and went on her way. Harry gripped the side of his bench. The sound of Angela's heels died away. He was alone.

Harry waited as healers passed, some occasionally carrying specimen jars. He didn't want to think, it would make what was to come worse. The Minutes were passing slower than normal. Finally, Undertaker Kirp came out of his office.

"Just follow me." The healer ushered him down the left corridor. They passed more offices, a lab and a ritual theatre until they came to a pair of double swinging door. Kirp when in first, Harry was almost smacked in the face by the door.

The odour of the white tiled room was awful. Overpowering incense sticks barely masked the smell of decay. Kirp was scanning the rows of square steel doors that lined the wall. He unlocked the middle one, five doors down.

"Come along."

He felt like insects were crawling over him. His mind was telling him not to do it, but he got closer.

Kirp didn't look at Harry, he was busy levitating the body to the examination bench. "We'll need a drop of blood to confirm identity. If all goes well, you might be allowed to see him."

Harry avoided looking at the sheet covering the bench. Instead, he watched the clock tick in the corner. Presumably, Krip was taking a sample from the body. Every tick of the clock seemed to echo in Harry's mind.

"Henry?"

He twitched as Krip tapped him.

The healer held out a needle. "I'll need to prick a finger."

Harry nodded and wiped his hands on his vest. Behind Kirp, the cloth covered bench demanded to be looked at. He spread out a hand. Krip gripped it still. The tip of his index was promptly jabbed. Drops of blood were squeezed into a dish then poured into a potion. Kirp took his leftover equipment and began rinsing them in the sink. Harry crossed his arms and stared at the floor. The bubbling of the potion was dying down. Within his shoes, Harry's toes were clenched. He listened intently for the sound to die completely.

Krip looked back. "Henry, you'll need to step out."

"Sure." Harry wandered away, struggling with the swing door on his exit. Something about standing outside was starting to clear Harry's head. His heart wasn't numb like before. His feet walked him up the corridor. He didn't get far. His knees failed. It was the wall that kept him standing. He pulled off his glasses. Heat was rising to his head. He squeezed his eyes shut.

He was unsure which he preferred. If the body wasn't James, then his dad had faked his death. Harry's breath was strained. His dad would have lied, he had done that too many times. He was always doing things for the 'greater good', Harry had started to wonder what those words even meant. A tear shed, he promptly rubbed it away and tried to gather himself. If it was faked, than at lest Harry wouldn't be an orphan.

In an odd sense, if the body was his dad then Harry's waiting would be over. The last time Harry had seen his dad was on his sentencing day. Peter refused to visit Azkaban. Harry didn't argue, he would rather imagine the place than experience it. His dad was always making him wait, be it in Azkaban or on some mission for the rebellion. Harry sometimes wonder if his dad did it because he was lonely himself. His mum was what kept them together.

A door had swung open. Harry covered his face bracing for Krip's uninterested tone. Someone cleared their throat. Harry shoved his glasses back on and looked up.

He knew he was forgetting something. The stranger before him was waiting. He was the oddest man Harry had ever seen, tall, pale and maybe a little snake-like. He didn't even have whites in his eyes, all red with a black sliver for a pupil. Harry did understand was that the man was a dark wizard – it was required knowledge for Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts.

The man widened an eye. "Have you never seen a coin before?"

Harry must have croaked or something equally as stupid, his head wasn't making clear thought. "A coin?"

The man smirked. "If you've ever seen one, you'd recognise my face."

Two and two came together in Harry's head. He went for the deepest bow he could manage but ended up falling to the floor.

The man stepped back and watched him faceplant. "What brings you here, boy."

Harry peeled himself off the floor. His mind was a mess. Fortunately, his mouth conjured up a response. "My dad, James."

"Ahhh… Henry Potter."

He was on his feet again, but he avoided the red eyes. He was an idiot for not recognising the Dark Lord. Worse yet, he forgot to bow and ended up falling instead.

The Dark Lord leaned over Harry like he was studying a curiosity. He drew a short a breath. "I would treat James as memory. Dead or alive, he will distract from your future."

Harry gaze unknowingly looked back at the red eyes. The Dark Lord gripped his chin. "Your like reading a picture book. Charming, I will admit."

There were no words coming from Harry's mouth. He had no idea what to say or do. How should he behave when the most powerful man to walk the world was casually standing before him?

"So, you must be eleven?" The Dark Lord's hands returned to his side.

Harry choked but his mind forced his voice into conversation. "I just turned eleven. Today is my birthday."

There was a buzz in the Dark Lord's stare and a grin across his face. "Of course it is – born as the seven month dies. Have you taken the entrance exam, or is that for next year?"

Harry focused on his fingers fiddling and swallowed hard. "I've taken the exam. I don't know if I've made it, I think I messed up my History of Magic essay."

"Lessons are learnt with hindsight." The Dark Lord's eyes were drilling into Harry. His smile hadn't faltered, in fact, it had gotten wider.

Footsteps were coming towards them. The Dark Lord's attention snapped to the sound. "What is it Kirp?"

Harry looked behind him. Kirp looked as equally as shocked and embarrassed as himself.

The Dark Lord crossed his arms. "Well?"

Kirp stumbled on his tongue before getting his words out. "Ah, yes – the identity is confirmed as James Potter."

"Good." The Dark Lord turned back to Harry. He waited then his smiled dropped. "Kirp."

"I thought the boy would want to see…"

The Dark glared at Kirp. "He doesn't."

Harry didn't know if he did or not want to see his father. Nonetheless, having the choice decided by a stranger didn't feel right.

The Dark Lord put himself between Harry and Kirp. The footsteps down the corridor said that Kirp was retreating. Impulsively, Harry did want to see want to his father, but the decision was made. He needed to get over it, his dad hadn't done much good by him anyway. There were bigger problems now he was an orphan.

There were two eyes of red inside his thoughts. Harry jerked, sure enough, the Dark Lord was there, looking very amused. "I'll have to fish out your exams papers and mark them myself."

Harry hoped he was teasing. After all the effort he had made to make sure he was ready for the entrance exam, Harry didn't want to fall short and have the Dark Lord be the first to know.

The Dark Lord chuckled. "I'm fairer than some markers." He went quiet for a brief while like he was listening to a voice Harry couldn't hear. He returned his attention. "I'm must get going, sadly. Wonderful chat…"

The Dark Lord was already striding away. Harry's feet were stuck in place. He wanted to dig a grave and die in it.

Suddenly, the Dark Lord halted. "Harry?"

Reluctantly, Harry met his eyes again.

"Harry Birthday." On the spot, the Dark Lord dissolved into black smoke then faded completely.

Whatever he Had just experienced, Harry couldn't make any sense of it. He had a feeling it was an encounter he should never bring up again. Harry wished the Dark Lord had remained as a distant figurehead – the face on the galleon. It was like a kind of glass wall had shattered.


	2. Chapter 2

August, Friday the sixteenth.

Harry was reading at the bay window. The house elf, Jolly, was busy polishing the silverware. Mrs Pettigrew was coming for dinner that evening. She liked a traditional kind of visit. There were nerves in Harry's gut. The acceptance letter was four days late, that usually meant failure. He didn't want to believe it possible. His entire childhood was spent preparing for the entrance exam. He was probably more knowledgeable on magic theory than the average pureblood.

The chance meeting with the Dark Lord hadn't escaped his mind. It was a conversation that haunted him. The other night Harry dreamed about the dark lord using an origami fortune-teller made from his test paper to predict his grade. Uncle Peter didn't know about anything about it. Harry only told him that the body was confirmed to be his dad.

There was ding from the front door. Jolly jumped almost dropping the platter in her hand. She put aside her cloth and hurried away. Moments later, she reappeared holding the letter tray out to Harry. "Both for you, Young Master."

He took the two letters from the tray. His grip was shaking. One had the Hogwarts shield stamped in wax. The other was in an unmarked black envelope sealed with a snake and skull.

"Is the young master well?" Jolly's wide eyes were looking worried.

Harry swallowed his spit. He gripped the letters harder. "Back to task, Jolly."

She hurried back to her polishing, occasionally glancing back at Harry.

He decided to open the Hogwarts letter. Even if it was a denial of entry, it was a lot less intimidating than the black letter. Harry's hands had gotten slippery. Usually, he could open a letter in a tidy, but he ripped the envelope to shreds. Harry. He was dreaming. It didn't feel right. There was some illusion at play. Four sheets of parchment were in his palm. The first being his letter of acceptance for first year.

His mind twisted. It was painful. His mum and dad would have been so proud. His dad had always talked about how fun Hogwarts was. It wasn't the same school anymore. The times had changed since his parents were teenagers. Hogwarts had strict rules and high expectations. As a half-blood, the expectation was basically doubled for him.

Behind the letter of acceptance was his school supplies list. Then followed a sheet that summarised his exam results. His lowest score paper was history of magic, which he scored sixty-two out of a hundred percent. The rest fell around an average of eighty-five percent. Surprisingly, his highest scoring subject was spell theory followed closely by defensive theory.

The fourth and final sheet made Harry feel ill. It was a notice explaining that he had been approved for the elite defence against the dark arts class. After skim reading the extra supplies required for the class, Harry got the impression it took a hands-on approach to teaching. He put down the parchment and slouched. The world was spinning around him. He felt that same sensation as when he first looked into the dark lord's eyes. He never imagined making the elite class with being the half-blood child of a blood traitor and all. It didn't make any sense to put him amongst future death eaters.

He reached for the black letter. It opened with too much ease. Inside was an invitation for a meeting at the Dark Lord's London office. There was no added explanation, just a date and the time he was expected to arrive at. Ominously, the letter said attendance was mandatory, death being barely an excuse to miss it. Harry discarded the letters on the bay window. He staggered up the stairs and collapsed over his bed.

He was shaken. It was dark outside. Uncle Peter was towering over him with a huge smile spread across his face. "I'm so proud of you, Harry!"

Harry tried to open his eyes to focus.

Peter pulled him upright. "The Elite Defense Class. A meeting with the Dark Lord. How wonderful, Harry. Well done!" He patted Harry's side.

In the doorway, Mrs Pettigrew was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.

"We'll go to the quidditch match. You've it." Peter was talking more to his mother.

The scene wasn't really registering with Harry. Mrs Pettigrew came and embraced Harry herself. "Oh Peter, He'll need new robes and everything!"

Uncle Peter was rabidly nodding along as Mrs Pettigrew made plans to contribute for his school supplies. Harry lifted his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Jolly must have read the letters and relayed the news.

"… he must make an impression with the Dark Lord." Mrs Pettigrew was off comparing all the tailors she knew.

The buzz in the air went right through him. Harry moaned. Suddenly, they were both fussing over him. Harry felt a calling for his bed. Peter was off barking orders Jolly. Harry let it play out. Their voices became meaningless noise. He felt charmed more by the idea of rest. Mrs Pettigrew concluded he was unwell and coaxed him into sipping soup. Eventually, peace came, and he was left in bed.

Wednesday the twenty-first.

Harry checked his watch. He was on time. Ornate tall doors of the office loomed ahead. Only idiots kept the Dark Lord waiting. He re-check his watch, there something about the secretary's reaction that made him worry. The balding man addressed him with a raised brow and said that the lord had been waiting, but Harry wasn't scolded for lateness.

Harry reached for his inner pocket. Mrs Pettigrew had gotten a set of robes perfectly tailored for the occasion. It was likely the suit wouldn't fit in a few months' time. His hand retreated as the door opened themselves. He straightened his posture and walked on. His head repeated instructions over and over in his head. He was not going to forget etiquette again. If only Uncle Peter had mentioned the dark lord was a legilimens sooner. Harry would have had more time to practice occlumency. Currently, he had less than a week's practice.

The first thing Harry noticed was the slender figure behind the large bulky desk. They looked up, instantly greeting him with piercing eyes. Harry must have downplayed the feature, seeing them for a second time hadn't reduced their shock value.

The Dark Lord smirked. "A charming effort, Harry." He gestured to the seat before him.

He edged towards the chair. His eyes were wandering over the room. The office was mostly full of antiquities and scripture locked behind glass. He sat and swallowed hard. It was becoming harder to remember the protocol of etiquette. The Lord cleared his throat. Harry decided to look at his mouth rather than his eyes.

"I'll mail you a list of Occlumency tutors, you clearly need one."

The Lord's mouth barely had lips to speak of. The parts which Harry could distinguish were dry and flaking. "Thank you, my Lord."

The Lord hummed with amusement. Harry's eyes darted away from the Dark Lord's face. It was going terribly, he was stiff for no reason. They were literally just having a conversation. He hadn't done anything bad, or had he? His father was the blood traitor who died trying to assault the Lord. Maybe it was about his Muggle-born mother, Harry wished he had different parents.

It dawned on him that he was staring intensely at the Dark Lord's long bony fingers. "How has your day been going?" Instantly, Harry wanted to slam his head against the desk. He had no clue what he was doing or why. He was such an idiot.

The Lord's hands relaxed. "Oh, the usual. I won't bore you with the details, yourself?"

Foolishly, Harry looked up. "It's pretty boring without an exam to study for."

"Don't you have any clubs to fill time?" The Dark Lord's eyes didn't seem so venomous anymore.

"Clubs?" Harry's mind was racing.

The Lord rested back in his chair. "Traditionally, children under eleven attend clubs. It's meant to build skills socially. Never mind, Hogwarts had a vast selection to choose from. I'll also mail you that list."

Harry had lived with Uncle Peter for five years, not once were clubs mentioned. It was probably because his dad had neglected to educate him properly. Harry was always catching up on study, mostly on his own. Uncle Peter thought he was too far behind to be enrolled in prep classes, and a personal tutor was too expensive. Peter probably didn't want to burden Harry with any clubs.

The Dark Lord's fingers were tapping his armrest. "What a shame."

Harry that the Dark Lord saw everything just he thought. He immediately directed his gaze to his knees.

"I reckon your parents must be extremely annoyed with you."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. He knew his mum was proud of him – she always was – or at least, that was what she said. His dad was a bit more vocal about his opinions, but Harry had been good. He never did anything to draw attention to them.

The Dark Lord straitened his seating. "Probably not the best segue…" He took a deep sigh. "I think your parents have done the opposite of what they hoped for. You don't think Dumbledore exists, do you? – And if the man was alive, you wouldn't join him."

He stared at the Dark Lord for a while. "Well, no. That's silly."

The Dark Lord buried his face in his palm muffling out his laughter. He reined in the chuckles but had to wipe off the beginnings of a tear. "You have made my day, Harry."

Harry looked around. He didn't get what was funny. It was probably just Dumbledore, the man sounded like the rebellion's Santa Claus. Still, he did wonder why his parents were so devout to such a person.

His mouth opened but hesitated. He still wasn't sure why he was having this meeting. "Have I done something wrong?"

"No." The Dark Lord waved off the question. "I just wanted to have a more appropriate chat. Speaking of which, I did, in fact, mark your papers and was pleasantly surprised; most entrance papers are sweat-stained messes of thought."

A part of Harry wished had done something wrong. The Dark Lord invited him all the way to his office just to finish a random conversation. Harry struggled to understand it. There was nothing about him that could be of any interest to a Dark Lord.

"Thank you." It was best Harry could manage. His mind instantly scolded him for not ending 'my Lord', but that seemed too formal for a chat – Or was everything formal with the Dark Lord? His sense of manners had liquified and dripped out his ears. He knew had to some effort from his side. Currently, a wall would be a better talker than him. "Uncle Peter is taking me to Quidditch on Friday."

The Dark Lord seemed interested. The beauty of Quidditch was that everyone knew it well enough to have something to say. "That's exciting. Who's playing?"

"The Falcons against the Heidelberg Harriers. Uncle got some good seats through work." It was going to be an intense game. Hopefully a quick one, Uncle Peter would only watch a game for three hours. He often said that any longer and the results were better read in the morning paper.

A tea set was levitated over to the desk. Harry assumed an unseen elf had sent it. The Dark Lord reached for a teacup and dropped a raw sugar cube. "Peter enjoys spoiling you, doesn't he?"

Harry watched him drop another cube in his cup. "It's only because I made it into Hogwarts."

"I struggle to believe it, Harry. Pettigrew never struck me as a fatherly kind-of-man." One last cube was added before the cup was filled. "Of course, my legilimens could be at complete fault."

Peter hadn't exactly gone above and beyond, but neither had his dad. What his uncle had provided was a stable home. Harry would choose that over travelling with his dad, handing out propaganda and looking for Dumbledore. "It's fine." Harry added a single cube to his cup before pouring.

"I cancelled his custody request."

Harry went to sip his tea, but the scent of bitter chocolate hit his nose. He glanced down, his cup was filled with an almost black variant of Hot chocolate. The Dark Lord's words finally processed. "Won't they bully me for being a Potter? Peter said that because of my parents my reputation is ruined."

The Lord's grin was wide. "I'm sure your reputation was a contribution to his thoughts." He pushed over the milk jug.

Harry gratefully accepted it, however, the addition of the milk did not lighten the colour of his drink.

"Keeps the dementors at bay." The Dark Lord raised his cup before drinking.

That morning Peter had mentioned something about visiting Gringotts. Harry took a sip from his cup and found it harsh on his palate. He semi coughed-gagged while putting the cup on its saucer.

The Dark Lord was stirring down the sugar in his half-empty cup. "It's not to everyone's taste. I imagine you're a sweet boy?"

Harry was rubbing his tongue on the roof of his mouth to reduce the aftertaste. The sound of a teaspoon scraping around porcelain filled the room. The look in the Dark Lord's eye had changed. He rested the spoon on the saucer then retrieved a slip from his desk. "As for reputations, they are better built with actions rather than titles."

Parchment was placed before Harry. His eyes widened. His gut twisted. The room was growing hotter. It wasn't exactly a contract, but something of a similar vein. He had no clue what to do. He hadn't the rumour was real.

The Dark Lord was nonchalant. He finished his cup and said, "I don't take first years, but from what I marked, you meet my standards."

There had been a major miscommunication. Harry wasn't sure how it happened, but he had to end it. He opened his mouth to decline. Not a sound came out of him. An expectant quill and inkpot was pushed to him.

"Well, go on."

Harry just sat, mouth agape, staring at the parchment. He was lucky his dad was not alive to witness it. How his mother would have reacted did not bare thinking. Across the desk finger tapping had started. The Dark Lord was now waiting. He had to do something.

After managing to clear his throat, he got a decent grab on his voice. "I'll have to give it some thought."

"Excuse me?"

Harry stared at his knees, they were the only safe thing to look at.

"Harry." The Lord's voice was venomous. "People have murdered for this parchment."

The paper stared at him demandingly. In large illustrated letters it read: Offer to Attend the Dark Lord's Private Class. Harry scanned the writing seeking a flaw to escape. The page was mostly about the benefits of attendance. He flipped it and was grateful to find it double-sided.

There were three lines of fine print. Failure to pass the school year at seventy percent or above will result in expulsion. Harry immediately leapt at the requirement. "I don't really think I could do that. I mean, my history paper? It was terrible."

The Dark Lord didn't take a bit of it. "Your marks sit around the eighty-five mark, the distribution evens out. There are also plenty of study clubs that can help." He began refilling his cup with sugar. "Be more confident in your abilities."

Harry moved to the second clause. Attendance is mandatory, failure to appear in class could be punished with isolated study, detention or expulsion with a discredited social score. It read like skipping class was akin to treason. "I'm very prone illness, basically bedridden over winter. There's only so much you can learn with a fever."

More Hot chocolate was poured into the Dark Lord's cup. "I'm sure a nurse can wheel you into class."

It all rested on the last condition. Harry read it carefully. His brain was working overtime to find an escape. Instead, he was greeted with confusion. If a student wishes to withdraw from the class after accepting the offer, they will be withdrawn from Hogwarts and excluded from the related benefits. Harry was left wondering what was taught in the Lectures. The consequences were too high. An idea crept into his mind and went mad in his imagination. The elite defensive magic class didn't prep future death eaters, that happened in the private lectures. He had to hand it to the Dark Lord for the effort he made personally grooming his future servants.

He pushed the parchment back. He wasn't his dad, he wouldn't run around chasing Dumbledore, but Harry could never envision himself wearing the silver mask. It wasn't in his nature to attack, he more likely to defend – but even then, there were doubts. He needed to know what was worth defending before he started waving around a wand. His time with his dad had shown him that the tensions between right and wrong were exhausting. Harry didn't have a side; his plan was to follow the system well enough to be comfortable.

"I worked really hard to get into Hogwarts." Harry raised his head, bracing for the eye contact. "These lectures could sabotage that."

The Dark Lord sipped his drink. His eyes were digging into Harry's mind.

Harry's heart was pounding in his chest. "I'll have to talk it out with Uncle Peter and see if he thinks I can handle it." He didn't wait for a response. He just stood, took the offer and left. The balding secretary eyed him as he made a b-line for the exit. Peter wasn't waiting for him outside so Harry just picked a direction and walked. The entire time he couldn't ignore the offer in his pocket.

Friday Evening

There was a time when Harry would have been excited to be invited to a ball. He slouched in the carriage. Opposite him was Uncle Peter. He was wearing the black and white robes that made him look like a penguin. His scowl was reaching for his chin.

"Henry James Potter!" He was shaking his fancy walking stick. "Why didn't you say anything. They said you left to talk it over."

The Dark Lord had conspired against him. While Peter was at work, a death eater general waltzed up and asked if Henry had accepted his 'offer'. Peter didn't have a clue what they were talking about, which was a highly embarrassing experience for him.

"Well?" After the discovery, Peter decided to cancel quidditch and interrogate him instead. Harry had managed not to a thing slip and even began coaxing some of Peter's favour back. Then a black invitation arrived. Peter forced him to read it aloud. The Dark Lord had enough cheek to address it to Harry with his uncle as a plus one. In the rush to get ready, Peter's rage had returned twice as strong.

The carriage lurched to a holt. Harry still didn't say anything. Without any better robes to wear, he was dressed in same robes Mrs Pettigrew had gotten – which still had the offer folded up in its pocket. The door opened, Peter was the first to leave. He didn't make an effort to wait for Harry. By the time Harry was out, his uncle was out of sight.

Before him were wide tiers of steps, then a massive gilded entrance way. He looked back to see their carriage had moved on. He could see no other carriages approach the Lestrange Estate, they were the last to arrive. After a deep breath, he made his way up the steps. The chirp of insects filled the air. Harry couldn't hear any music or chatter. The servants opened the doors without a word or announcement. Harry walked on through vast halls adorned with marble and sculpture. There wasn't a single guest, the servants seemed sparse as well. The final pair of doors Harry had to open himself.

In the ballroom, masses of people stood facing him. They were a rich lot, it was evident from their dress. Every eye was scrutinising him. No one said anything. It was clear Harry's journey had not yet finished. A path lined with spectators had been carved across the dance floor. Harry walked on with his head low. Aside from a cough in distance, it was just him and his footsteps. The path brought him into a short corridor. There were only three doors to choose from. It was obvious his destination was the pair of walnut doors at the end. A few steps down and he heard the ballroom roar with noise. He ignored the sound and pushed on.

As he had expected, the Dark Lord was sitting by the fire, waiting for him. The grin smeared across his face was horrid. Harry forced himself to take the chair beside him. The quicker he got it over with, the quicker he could go home.

"That's three times you've forgotten to bow to me."

Harry forced his head down, avoiding eye contact was the best way he could protect his mind.

"No matter, Hot chocolate?" The Dark Lord didn't wait for a response, he began pouring Harry's cup before his own. "Two nights was plenty of time to think it over." He put down the pot and held out his hand.

Harry's back crawled. It would be easier if he just did what he was told, but there were long term consequences. He could risk expulsion over a single missed Lecture. His eyes had squeezed shut. He would have to endure the backlash. Declining the offer was the best thing to do. Harry was not a death eater. He was not going to push the European front or support the American assault. He was going to study hard at Hogwarts and get himself a decent job so he can live happily. War and politics would have no role in his life

His hand fumbled its way into his robe pocket. He gripped it for a moment. If he was going to do it, he would have to look the Dark Lord in the eye and be certain of his words. At least he knew it was his decision, there was some power with that thought. He raised his head. The Dark Lord didn't seem angry, Harry was thrown by it. He refocused and cleared his mind. "I have to decline your offer."

The Dark Lord smirked, then sniggered. His laughter evolved and broke into hysterics. The noise batted around Harry's mind. He couldn't comprehend what was funny. He was certain he had done something bad.

The Lord was slouched in his chair. His chuckles were subsiding. From his own robe, he pulled out a roll of parchment then bent over to scribble it. Harry shifted around to get a better look at it. The Lord's floor-length sleeves of the made it impossible to see anything. He looked at his offer sitting neglected in his hand. "Aren't you annoyed?"

The Dark Lord rerolled his parchment and returned it inside his robe. "No. Are you?"

"Kind of." Harry wished he had legillimens so he could understand the Dark Lord's mind.

"I pull this hoax to filter out the awful ones." The Dark Lord pointed at the offer. "When it began, I only lectured the scared twenty-eight. Over two years, I knew it would be better to accept students worth teaching. Of course, my old supporters still think they're entitled to exclusivity, hence the 'offer'."

Harry looked at his offer. If it was a hoax, then he never had the choice to decline. His grip tightened, creasing the parchment. He had wasted so much energy over something that ultimately didn't matter.

The Dark Lord was smiling down at him. "I've never had someone decline an offer. Most people cave into it."

Harry was back to staring down. He could feel a swirl of rampant emotion expose his mind. He wanted more explanation. "What about me, where do fall in this?"

The Dark Lord chuckled again. "You're one of the few half-bloods to get on the list. The offer never mattered, you have already earnt your place."

So, Harry was to be funnelled down a path of death eater training. He threw the offer into the fire and stood. He made sure to keep his back to the Lord. It was like their first meeting; the decision had been made for him.

"Do you always walk away?"

Harry was halfway to the door. Yet, impulsively, he glared back at the fire. The Dark Lord's jaw rested against his hand, his eyes were void of emotion. The room became red. Harry sunk into an infinite void of endless unblinking eyes.

People were stomping up the stairs. His dad was yelling profanity between curses. Harry turned on the spot, there were just eyes everywhere. Above, his mother squealed. Her screams grew louder when men began shouting. His dad gave a final scream. The voice of his mother died away. Harry sealed his eyes and forced an imaginary silence.

He felt someone roughly shake his shoulder. "I've got to go, Harry." The voice came from his own mind. It was some kind of possession. He could feel his dad walked out the door as he used to years ago.

It was cold, large drops of rain were pouring over his body. Ahead he sensed the annoyance Uncle Peter was having with the papers. Harry forced himself into nothing. He existed in darkness. His senses were blind, the noises were silenced, there was just Harry – and two red slitted eyes.

"Get out."

Harry was the floor. One wipe across his forehead showed he was sweating horribly. The Dark Lord was towering him, his mouth had the slightest curve of amusement.

Harry dragged himself upright. He wanted to scream, run, destroy and sleep all at the same time.

"You did very well, now..."

It was at those words that Harry stormed from the room. He made it halfway down the hallway, then remembered the ballroom. There would be all those privileged purebloods who weren't worth a galleon. Harry didn't need their stares. He paced a faction of the corridor. His mind boiling over. Hot water had broken from his eyes. He would jump from a window if it meant getting out of this situation. He burst through a side door. A wave cold air flooded from the games room. Some voice said something about rashness. Harry wasn't in the mood to listen. Ahead was a vast window looking over a courtyard. Noises were shifting, growing louder and coming closer. The world was blurring again. Harry wouldn't have it. There would no more red eyes. He sprinted forward.


End file.
